Marque of Caine – Snippet 34

Alnduul had reached the craggy stone face. “That might
be a closer analog,” he agreed, just before he stepped forward, shifted
quickly to the right. And disappeared.

“Do not be alarmed,” his voice assured. “The
surrounding stone is cut to effect what you would call a trompe-l-oeil. What appears to be a dark vein of rock in the shadow
of the closest outcropping is in fact a small, sideways passage.”

Riordan followed the Dornaani’s voice, almost thumped his
head into the ceiling.

“Caution. And apologies: the passage was not designed
with humans in mind. Step sideways.”

Caine did and suddenly, as if he was stepping out of a
magical zone of darkness, lights swam up out of nothingness. Alnduul was
standing directly in front of him.

“What–how do you do that?”

“You may recall that your sensors have difficulty
detecting our ships, even when they are only one quarter of a light second
distant.”

“Which you, personally, hypothesized as being related
to our hulls’ ability to absorb light, even from weaponized lasers.”

Riordan frowned. “Yes, but I never told you about that.”

Alnduul ignored Riordan’s caveat. “Both your theories
are correct. A grid of endophotic nanoparticles has been embedded in the
surfaces behind you. Collectively, they absorb and redirect approximately
ninety percent of the light that enters that space. The remaining visible light
is converted into infrared emissions.”

“But that means–” Riordan stopped: there was no
way to articulate all of what that really meant, and how much more it implied. “So
you can convert energy from different part of the electromagnetic spectrum back
and forth pretty easily. And you put this here so that no light would leak out.
But why not just put in a door?”

Alnduul’s eyelids drooped slightly. “Our densitometers
are far more sensitive than yours, even at orbital ranges. A door would be
detected as a manufactured feature in what is otherwise a natural passage.
Please follow me.”

* * *

After winding through natural caves, they arrived at a
chasm. A stony chin jutting out over the lightless abyss proved to be an open
elevator platform that descended with marked swiftness.

Alnduul’s voice was ghostly in the rushing dark. “Soon,
we will be at a depth where orbital densitometers cannot reliably penetrate.
Beyond that, we shall be essentially undiscoverable.”

“And you are showing me all this because . . . ?”

“Because there is no other way to bring you to the
facility. But also, I hope to illustrate that those of us Custodians who are
more proactive have always seen parallels between our modus operandi and IRIS’s. At least, IRIS as it existed under Nolan
Corcoran, and then, briefly under Richard Downing.”

“Yes, well: that epoch is well and truly over.”

“And yet, you may be certain that a new star chamber
shall emerge. It always does, among humans.”

The ledge-elevator started to decelerate. “Dornaani don’t
have the same problems?”

“We do, but not with the same intensity or frequency.
We are far less driven by rank, status, or class.”

Riordan cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I see the
connection between the two.”

Alnduul joined the index fingers of either hand. “Unlike
your pyramidal paradigm of class distinction, our social structure resembles a
web. Leadership does not appeal so greatly nor so widely among us. Conversely,
there is less tolerance for activities that are not sanctioned by cultural
habit or explicitly approved by the Collective.” The lift drifted to a
halt. Alnduul walked forward into a long, smooth corridor that was illuminated,
but had no visible lights.

Riordan followed at a distance. “So the Collective
doesn’t approve of secret organizations or activities. Sounds like I’m risking
expulsion just by being here?”

Alnduul stopped, folded his long, thin hands. “Today’s
activity is not prohibited. And I am not pursuing it in cooperation with any
other Dornaani except Thlunroolt.”

Riordan looked around at Alnduul’s almost archetypal secret
hideout. “Then why all this?”

“Just because today’s activities are not prohibited
does not mean that I welcome scrutiny. You have a saying: to ‘fly under the
radar’? That is what I am doing.”

Riordan looked up into the soaring darkness. “You most
certainly are.”

* * *

After all the not-quite-skullduggery of their journey,
Alnduul’s hidden facility was distinctly anti-climactic: another smooth-cornered
room with few appointments.

Thlunroolt was already there, sitting behind a ubiquitous
crescent-shaped desk and control center. He raised a hand, let his fingers
trail through the air like loosely jointed chopsticks. “Welcome, Caine
Riordan. I am glad you sustained your resolve to participate.”

Caine smiled. “Well, it’s not like I really know what I’ve
resolved to do.”

But Thlunroolt’s attention had–conveniently? pointedly?–returned
to the controls before him.

Alnduul led Riordan to a human chair positioned in front of
an equally human desk. There was a streamlined HUD unit on it, sized for a
human head. Riordan picked it up, turned a questioning look at Alnduul.

“Yes. Please put it on.”

Riordan ensured it fit snugly. “Now what?”

“Can you see the chair?”

Riordan looked down. “Yes. But nothing else. Not even
my own feet.”

“That is as it should be. The rest of the scene will
fade in when we begin. For now, be seated and relax.”

“It would be easier to relax if I know what I’m
expected to do.”

“I would like you to conduct an interview.”

“Of you?”

“No. We are simply asking you to use the skills you
acquired as a defense journalist, and to ask the questions which we have
prepared for you.”

“You know I only did this a few times, right? I mostly
did field research, spoke to a few people off camera, read a lot of briefs,
wrote up my analysis.”

“I am aware. Your skills and natural aptitudes are more
than adequate for today’s activity.”

Damn,
I travel fifty light years to reprise the gig I hated the most? That’s fate for
you. “When do we start?”

“Now.”

The HUD functioned similarly to old-fashioned VR goggles.
The cream-nothingness of the null-image became a little more grainy, then
shapes started emerging from it: a tan leather recliner, a hazy window, white
drapes rippling in a breeze too light to feel, a hint of clear blue sky beyond.
It wasn’t virtuality, not even close. It was a minimalist dreamscape, softened
by a layer of gauze. But no interview subject.

“Alnduul, where’s the–?”

“Please! Do not speak, except to the subject. That is
imperative.”

Yeah,
but there’s nosubject. So who do I–?

And then there was a hazy figure in the recliner: a tall
man, but his clothes were a bit baggy, as if he had lost weight since first
wearing them. So: old or possibly infirm. The resolution of the image swam and then suddenly sharpened.

Caine gasped.

“Hello,” said the face of Nolan Corcoran.

ChapterTwenty-Three

April,
2124

Rooaioo’q,
BD +66 582

Riordan could hardly think through the surprise. Not until
the image of Corcoran smiled one of his avuncular smiles–my God, it’s just like him!–and urged, “You can start any
time you like.”

Riordan swallowed; his throat felt like old leather rubbing
across older leather. He coughed, glanced down, discovered a virtual data slate
on a virtual table. Okay, I’ve got a
script. That will help. “It’s quite an honor to interview you, Admiral
Corcoran. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”

Corcoran smiled, his salt-and-pepper eyebrows crinkling. “My
pleasure. Where would you like to start?”